Barriers Broken
by gallifyres
Summary: In 221b Baker Street of Victorian London, consulting detective Molly Hooper and her best friend Mary Watson find themselves without a case and quite bored out of their minds. What better to do than to saunter down to St. Barts and make use of their morgue and pathologist, Sherlock Holmes? Victorian era; Swap!lock; Sherlolly. ON HOLD
_Victorian era; swap!lock; Sherlolly. Obviously John (excuse me: Doctor Watson) isn't the complete idiot he was in TAB. Anything in [square brackets] are deductions or events occurring in Miss Hooper's mind palace._

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 **"That man's been banging on your door for half an hour now!"**

Molly Hooper, resident consulting detective at 221B Baker Street, looked up from her morning paper to gaze at her kindly landlady. Her best friend (and until two months before, flatmate) Mary Watson did the same from her sentry post at the curtains.

"We know, Mrs. Hudson," sighed Mary.

"Why don't you let him in? It looks like a case, and you both know it's been rather slow around here for a while," Mrs. Hudson tried to offer.

"No," Molly told her. "Obviously he's a suitor." She smoothed down her skirts as she started on her string of observations. "The oscillation upon the pavement…"

"Not to mention his eagerness," interjected Mary.

"And who in their right mind could miss that horrid bouquet of his?" sniffed Molly disdainfully. "If anyone knew me well, then they would know I do not react well to pollen. Besides, we don't take _suitors_. Only clients. Mary herself already has a loving spouse and wonderful collaborator. Obviously _she_ doesn't _need_ a man to court her."

"Oi, you," Mary swatted at Molly with a laced fan, who quickly dodged her gloved hand with a smirk. "And as for me," Molly continued, "I shall never find happiness in men."

"And why could that be, Miss Hooper?" inquired Mrs. Hudson with the aura of one quite surprised by such a statement.

"Well, Mrs. Hudson, one minute you are happy as can be, but next minute you are made to be the man's meek, little, completely submissive housewife. From the clients that we have taken, I have observed that most wives are made to be entirely obedient to their spouse. I, personally, do not desire to buy into _that_ lifestyle. I feel more empowered working without a man feeding off of my liberty and relative fame _._ Apologies, Mary." She straightened her paper, flipping the page and sipping her tea. "But at least Doctor Watson isn't that type of man, thank God. I do believe that he is one of a few of his kind. Please keep that one, Mrs. Watson," she added on as an afterthought, trying to quail the slight offence written on her friend's face.

"Yes…yes," Mary consented, smiling slightly. "I must say, Molly, we must consider ourselves lucky that I found a man who was willing to help us…"

"And one who was entirely inclined to publish our adventures, too!" Molly added. "In the _Strand,_ no less! I have an odd feeling that without your dear husband, we may not have had the brilliant opportunity to…publicize, for lack of a better term."

"Well," Mrs. Hudson said from her stance in the doorway. "You should at least give the man a slight _chance._ You and Mrs. Watson have done so much for London, you see. Both of you have broken through so many barriers and become _such_ wonderful role models for the children-especially the young ladies of the day. Miss Hooper, you are a public figure now; it won't do well to see the Yard's top advisor turning away every suitor from her doorstep."

"Public figure, my foot!" Molly laughed derisively. "I really do not care what the _public_ thinks of me. I shall be glad, so long as London stays ridden of crime. I am, after all, simply a detective-here to help, observe, and deduce-but not to romanticize with _men_." She spat out the last word as if it were a particularly nasty morsel of food.

Mrs. Hudson looked quite taken aback at Molly's small outburst. "Oh. _Oh!_ " she exclaimed, poking her head out around the hall. "Gentlemen these days! Never mind then, Miss Hooper, I quite understand your outburst about the likes of men."

"And why, if I can ask, do you say this _now_?" Mary asked, curiosity slightly piqued.

"Well…you see…it seems as if your suitor has-"

"Worked his way right into our lovely flat. _Without our express permission_ ," growled Molly in a positively dangerous manner.

Mary now looked as if she were trying not to laugh at her friend's predicament as she said, "Well, it seems as if we _must_ take him in, no?"

Molly made a noise of utter disdain in the back of her throat. She strode swiftly to the two chairs that the women used for questioning their clients, lifting up her skirt in order to increase her speed. "Let him in, Mrs. Hudson," she sighed, gesturing to the other chair for Mary to sit in.

"Do bring in some strong tea, will you, Mrs. Hudson? I daresay that our charming Miss Hooper will need it after this 'case' is over," Mary winked at Mrs. Hudson, who headed straight for the door, her skirt rustling as she went.

"Just this once, dear! I am, after all, your landlady-"

"Not your housekeeper," all three women finished simultaneously.

* * *

Precisely six minutes after the so-called client had been shown into 221b Baker Street, Molly Hooper stood in front of a mirror, clenching and unclenching her fists while gritting her teeth. Her former flatmate quietly walked and stood a good distance away from the fuming consulting detective.

"Do you need some more tea, Molly?" Mary asked, her voice balancing between amused and concerned.

Molly looked into the mirror and at her friend's countenance. [Slightly humoured, concerned, but mostly entertained. _Why on earth would she be entertained?_ ]

"What, is it, Mrs. Watson, that you find so _hilarious_ about that blustering client and his shameful way of courting me?" Molly asked, trying not to let her voice quiver.

Mary considered this, and then threw her head back and laughed. The pinned up, blonde curls fell from its arrangement as she chortled uproariously, managing to get out a few coherent sentences as she did so. "Dear God, Molly, did you manage to glance at your face as you threw the poor man out and into the corridor? You were so scarlet! When he presented you with that horrid bouquet-" Mary's words were cut off by Molly, who appeared quite miffed at the mention of the bouquet, taking sure steps to where the vase sat.

"What do you intend to do with them, Miss Hooper?" Mary asked, once she had settled down from her laugh.

In response, Molly delicately picked up the amphora, holding it at arm's length with a gloved hand, inspecting it as if it were a strange specimen. Finding nothing too criminal of it, she picked up an ink pen, scribbled a note, and then wrapped it lightly in an aubergine scarf. Shrugging, she went over to the window, trailed by Mary.

"Will you look at that," Molly murmured to her companion, who squeezed herself in by the sill.

"Why…he knows not how to take a hint. Dear me! He is still outside of your flat!" Mary smiled, beginning to giggle again, only to be abruptly halted by Molly's slap on the arm.

"Yes…so he is."

And with one swift, fluid motion, Molly threw the curtains wide open, pushed open the window, and dumped the scarf, vase, and its contents on the man. Mary and Molly quickly ran off, away from the window, both beginning to laugh extremely hard.

"That… that was absolutely… _brilliant_ , Molly!" Mary said, sniggering for the second time that day.

"Yes, I know! I am rather remarkable, now that I think of it," responded Molly, giving Mary one of her rare, genuine smiles.

"Why did you wrap it in that particular scarf?" inquired Mrs. Watson.

"You see… I may or may not have nicked it off of his person as he came into the room." Molly began, a mischievous glint in her chocolate eyes. "And… well, as he tried to court me, I made a few observations about the scarf. One: it was tied up in a fashionable manner, as it was probably intended as a token of some sort, most likely. Two: From looking at the stole, I realized that it was an unlikely color for a man and also had a scent of women's perfume-a fragrance that neither you or I use. Using this as profound evidence, Mrs. Watson, I have deduced that it is his wife's scarf."

Mary clapped her hands over her mouth, as if hiding a smile. "Oh! Oh, how clever of you, Miss Hooper! You have exacted some sort of revenge upon your admirer! You threw down his boquet and his token-which was really a possession of his spouse-and it hit him on his head! I daresay that the note was a reminder of that fact?"

Molly nodded in agreement. "Yes. Excellent work, Watson! I must say that Mrs. Hudson was right: we have not taken a case or any actual clients in a while. Nor have we experienced such exciting events in such time. This has awakened my desire for excitement and cases."

"And what are you trying to imply, now, Hooper?" questioned Mary, frowning slightly.

Miss Hooper rose from her seat. "I need a case, Watson. My mind can not just recline here, unused. It fidgets around, you see, waiting to be used-to be expanded and challenged. In my brain, I have become quite fatigued. I need a case."

Mrs. Watson sat then, fiddling with her fan. "If you say as you do, then let us go pay a visit to my dear husband at Saint Bartholomew's Hospital. I am certain that he will assist us in unearthing a case. Come now, Miss Hooper!"

With that declaration, the consulting detective and her closest confidant exited Baker Street, off to yet another of their London adventures.

* * *

 _So… I had a(nother) conversation with my good ol' friend Rielle (Traveler of Many Lands). Actually, she submitted a prompt on my Tumblr and helped me out on the actual story, too. Thanks, Rielle!_

 _Anyways, please leave a review or follow/favorite! It encourages me and also makes me happy :D._

 _Til the next time, dear readers!_

 _-Maia_


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